


Reunion

by korik



Series: Speak Without Words [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Biracial Character, Black Male Character, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Family Reunions, Flirting, Friendship, Gen, Half-Siblings, How Do I Tag, Implied Relationships, Polyandry, Reunions, Sibling Bonding, Siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-14
Updated: 2015-07-14
Packaged: 2018-04-09 08:32:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4341500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/korik/pseuds/korik
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Again more headcanon bits, dropping to introduce my Inquisitor's brother as well as fuddling with ideas about social constructs, marriages, and yep. Background.<br/>There may not be enough to mention, but there is some Inq/Josephine flirting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reunion

There was a knock at the door, polite, composed, someone used to discretion accompanied by enthralling glamor. The voice slipping through the heavy door firmly confirmed which of the two her ear had determined to be the most likely candidates: the Spymaster had a voice to admire, curling over the hairs of your neck with shimmering indigos, feathers long and soft; this one was rich, groomed, a fine creature with delicate hooves, wide, captivating eyes, suede coat glistening in autumn colors. "Inquisitor, do you mind if I steal but a little moment of your precious time?"

She tucks the long blanket further around her shoulders, abandoning her newest gauntlets with frustration at their slow progression on the expansive round table and over the _hundreds_ of things she swore were not there when last she looked up. She wraps the frayed ends tighter around her arms to pitch herself feet first over the railing, clamber with her thick boots down the stone stairs, and tugs her unruly curls back with a bit of peach fabric. "Of course; if it was anyone else, I'd have to turn them out, polite or no." Who knows what the other, subjected to the space managed by the door, thinks of the shuffling and bounding that precedes her.

The door swings open and the woman gestures up the stairs, but in turn is gently declined by the smiling Antivan in her doorway.

"Well, one can hope, then, that no such thing will occur, yes?" The healthy flush to her cheeks, more brilliant probably thanks to the pervasive chill that haunted Skyhold like an old friend, brightens with the breadth of the smile, then the Ambassador coughs and straightens her back, her elegant writing board poised between them.

To business. "We've received a most interesting letter - it's from your family."

"Wanting to know how I am, I imagine? I'd intended to write but - "

The cant of the loose curls sends a soft _hiss_ through the air. "Mm, not quite."

There was a catch in her throat and Vaeln resists clenching her fists too tight. "Is someone dead?" _Oh Maker -_

Josephine looks contrite, a pace or two disappearing between them as, in a rare occurrence, she turns the flat wooden board a little towards the other, inviting her to see. "Oh no, no, no, no - nothing like that, let me assure you. It seems, well, they're practically _demanding_ that the Inquisition make allowance for someone from your family to smooth, what was it - _ah here_ \- ” the diplomat's dark fingers bid the papers shift and adjust until the right one is found, a crease here and there from it being recently folded - “ - 'rocky relations', in _person_."

Vaeln couldn't help but laugh as the pinch in her gut dissolves in full, shifting on her feet while the new idea cavorts in her mind. Out of habit, she tugs the fur lined blanket tighter. "Insisting? How much would you like to bet he's already here? Delivered it himself, I'm sure."

The lightly painted mouth opens. "Him? You mean, you've seen him? Whomever _him_ _is_ -"

The shorter woman is quick to explain, apologetic at the unshared information: "My mother was _always_ proper about Andraste, her children, our name - I was to take over had I not...been required elsewhere. Tradition, you see. Once it was apparent I wasn't going to be staying home, my younger brother was prepped for it," she shakes her head, recalling only dim memories of the exact details. So many other things had been on her mind at that point, and inheritance had taken a back seat to never seeing anyone ever again. "I have other siblings, but my brother, Eaizlen, we were the closest." She could not help but to reach up, touch into her ear where on both sides of her head she had the conch pierced through. Ostwick. A promise. “Whatever measures were to be taken, we were to oversee them personally, no matter how grave; our word was our bond, our presence evidence of that.”

The thick accent turns lighter with the satisfaction at understanding just a little more. One could hear stories, but to hear, as it were, from the gryphon's mouth... "I must admit, I find myself somewhat skeptical - there _was_ a charming young man, tall and dark, whom did deliver this letter, but he did not - " the well dressed woman looks confused, lips and brows contracting almost imperceptibly, hesitance where once she had been sure of what she saw - " - look like...?"

Vaeln's face splits into a wider grin, finding no reason to be dissuaded from her growing excitement. "Bet it's him; Eaizlen and I share blood through mother, some _other_ old tradition about Andraste and having the Maker and her flesh and blood love."

Josephine's eyes became round disks, her free hand touching at her cheek. "I'm so sorry."

The Inquisitor looks puzzled, brows hitching close to one another. "Sorry? For my mother? I admit, I don't know how she handles three - " Understanding blossoms as the other woman's confusion worsens, and Vaeln flushes, grimacing. " _Oh no_ , no - our fathers are still very much _alive_ , despite how some of us felt from time to time - Trevelyans have and keep rather large families, you know, probably the one reason I was happy to leave it; get some _quiet_."

Josephine makes a sound of surprise, soft brown eyes blinking. "You have _two_ fathers? I thought that practice was, well, theory, rumor. Even most devout Andrastians by and large don't practice or even discuss it."

The other nods, eager to exit to see if her guess was correct, gesturing hopefully towards the door as she continues to speak. She wills her words to imply a promise of greater returns than staying put. "It's not _common_ , to be sure; they spent _more_ than a few years arguing over who was the 'divine representation' until my mother threatened to turn them _both_ out.” She restrains amusement, smile curling in on itself. “They adore her, so you can imagine how much longer they argued when faced with being discharged dishonorably." 

Josephine nods in turn at understanding, and they strode through the sparsely decorated halls, need for urgency restraining the urge to simultaneously stop, sigh, and tilt their heads this way and that at what work remained left to restore the old place. If they indulged, who knew how long it would take them to find the newest transplant. There was already enough drudgery on the plates of those who'd been set to the task of revitalization – any more hassling and it was sure to give cause for the Commander to shove between them.

The Ambassador continues, “I imagine your home life was kept very busy, between studies to prepare you for leading your family, and your family itself - ?”

Vaeln heaves a sigh, her sharp eyes darting this way and that in her sockets to search as they breeched the door into the main hall. “Inordinately so, I felt – can't tell you how many times I escaped to the mews to sit with the hawks; the most they would do by comparison would be screech things I couldn't understand, and poop on everything.” She gains a rather odd look on her face. “Actually, that sounds about the same in retrospection as to what I was _trying to avoid_ at _home_.”

An immature giggle escapes before the well dressed woman squashes it. “Your family was involved in falconry? Hunt often?”

The Inquisitor grins again, waving off the idea of being slighted in any fashion. Reminiscing about family to her was not nearly as discomforting as perhaps others thought. “Aye. I admit, I was pleased to hear about Leiliana's birds, but once I saw they were crows, I was disappointed.”

The other's fingers curl a little more as she shifts the board from one hip to the other, her own dark brown gaze beginning to linger between the sparse groups of people to recall exactly _whom_ had slid so efficiently to her door. “The crows are more intelligent than hawks,” she attempts to kindly supply, “and can be trained to perform more complicated tasks.”

Vaeln grunts in agreement, “So I got Leiliana to explain to me at great length, then apologized to her for being biased regardless.” A comical, overdone shrug of her shoulders, lips pursing.

Josephine can't help the laughter this time, nodding her head towards Varric propped up in his usual fashion in the corner, scribbling away at his works, seeing how his head turns just enough as they chatter nearby. “I'm sure she found it quite adorable.”

Once more the insufferably curly head bobbed in agreement, broad lips and mouth turned up at the corners in a contrite smile. “ _Oh she did_. I adore her birds, to be sure, I've never seen birds _play_ so much, but what memories I have of working with my kestrel, Brahmin, striving to one day get a full fledged _sea hawk_ \- “ She hopes her eyes do not glisten with the overpowering sense of wistfulness she feels permeates her at the bumbling return of those childhood memories – the tiny hawk triumphantly taking down dragonflies, the smallest of mice, coming to her fist when she called -

Josephine finds she can not help herself, gently sliding her shoulder alongside the other woman's arm, voice rippling with delight. “Sea hawk? Aren't they a little large for someone like you?”

The other woman responds in kind, though being more stout and built like what the Bull called 'a brick', she shrugs instead of leaning all her weight into the gesture, feeling her skin flush as she snickers. “Now you're just being _mean_ ; my mother had her own pair of _golden eagles_ , said they were 'the better halves of her husbands.' Drove them _crazy_.”

Apparently on some mornings when the sea of faces were not nearly as unfamiliar as they had both came to expect, they would find themselves drifting closer and closer like this, and Vaeln struggles like before to not take the other woman's hand. While she knew she had a preference of expressing herself in a physical fashion, others took it as a far more serious event. And, truthfully, she wasn't sure it would be fair – how many others knew what she enjoyed? Let alone she was unsure of the Ambassador's feelings on the matter, and to assume - ?

Josephine's giggling disrupts her thoughts. “Sounds like your mother has good taste!”

Vaeln counters, thick brows rising. “In birds, or in husbands?”

The other kept on giggling, a hand rising this time to try to aid her attempts to stop. “To be fair, I'm not sure; the idea of committing to one or another seems impossible.”

The Inquisitor relents, resisting needling the other in the side; it must have been the news of her brother – it makes her breathless, young. _Finally_ something unexpectedly delightful, but she can't help but wonder – what will have changed? “Don't worry, we could never decide either, mother's a – well, she's a hard woman to please sometimes, driven, capable, far more devout than I ever was - “

“You forget, she nearly pitched a _fit_ when the Templars came for you, Chantry or no.” The voice that interrupts is markedly different, thicker, and rumbles with an all too familiar _twang_ of _home_.

It chokes the breath from her. Vaeln does what she can to not tackle the shade that steps into her blurring vision, words forgotten, her voice pitching high - “Eaizlen!”

How many years have gone by is made clearly evident – last she had seen him, they had been nearly the same height, and now he towers over her. Both sides of his head is shaved, a long, elegant braid spiraling from atop his head and down his back. Even – even strange glimmering dots follow what would be the natural curve of his mouth, towards his ears, things she never imagined would appear on his kindly face. She wants to cry once she spots the dots just barely visible in the shells of them. He has _kept_ the piercings.

“My greetings to you, Ninny - “ Oh Maker, he bows like a true noble, silly nickname or not, gloved hands and fingers knowing the proper places, proper forms as his legs adjust for the perfect sweep and making use of the length of his overcoat -

She clambers the last steps between them, throwing her arms around him as she tries to crush the life out of his neck, whispering fervently, “ _You arse_ – is that really how you're going to greet me, sounding like father - ?” Vaeln is afraid to open her eyes, burying her face further into her brother's neck.

That he laughs restores some of the strength to her heart; he still _sounds_ like he did. “Maker's breath, I missed you, Vaelyn.”

She's too preoccupied trying to not sob to drive her fist into his back for saying her name like mother always did, never wanting to let go as he pulls her off the ground and further into the hug.

Would it be too ridiculous to wrap her legs around him? She feels like she is still that terrified eight year old being given instead the best news of her life. “Gods, don't remind me – and you, _gods look at you -!_ _”_ Still hovering off the ground, she pulls back from him to look down at his smiling face, taking in the damp lines that streak from his pale eyes. “You'd think mum went off and shagged a tree, you're nearly the size of Iron Bull!”

Voice thick and rough, his words crack, a gloved hand with delicate stitching holding it together wipe his face and run over his nose. “Iron Bull? Should I be concerned?” He seems to know all too well how to act like the concerned younger sibling, and squeezes her tighter.

Taking a somewhat superior, aloof tone of voice, she tweaks his nose, brows raising. “Romantically? Mm, _well_ , if it bothers you - “

The air he expels is indignant even as she kisses his forehead. “You _brat_ – I get here and the first thing you do is try to make me panic about how I'm going to lose my sister _again_ to something that sounds like it'll _hurt_ if I piss it off.”

Iron Bull. The Inquisition. Vaeln squirms in her brother's grasp, remembering suddenly they are not alone, and in fact, at this rate, the whole damn _hall_ is probably staring. “Oh, damn – _Josephine_ , I'm sorry – I should introduce you – _this bastard -_ “ all thumbs and uncaring from her elevated position and high from unadulterated joy, she ropes her muscled arm around his neck, not bothering as he fumbles to keep the blanket that had been over her shoulders from hitting the ground - “ - this is Eaizlen Trevelyan, my younger brother whom I really have little idea as to what he's been up to for the past several decades, I mean, _look at this_ \- “ She swings back to look at him from Josephine's laughing features, her palm landing squarely on the bumps in his cheeks.

He frowns at the inevitable and tries to angle his head comically from her, failing with thespian dramatics. “Oph! Ow, those _hurt_ if you're not careful - “

“Sorry,” she says quickly, not _too sorry_ in that teasing way siblings who know they're being just that do, “I just – Eaizlen, what? _Why_? Not saying they don't look good, but oh god – “ she huffs loudly, knotting her arms around him again - “- fuck it, I'm just so happy you're here. Mum's idea, I imagine?”

Eaizlen slowly lets her down, both of them still grasping, hands over arms, smiling as though nothing could ever be wrong again. “Actually, I came up with it and proposed it to her; figured you could use some company and a bit of pestering.”

The tears come easier now, the initial wave of _so much_ leaving them in the shallows of the warmth. “Well you've got one part of it down - “

Eaizlen bites his lip, shaking his head a little and gently turning his own face towards their company, shaking his older sister's shoulder assuringly. “Vaeln, Vaeln, come on, don't tell me you'll leave me hanging on the rest of this woman's lovely name, will you?” It's okay, _focus_. We'll have time.

Vaeln sputters again, murmuring, wrapped hand rubbing over the mess of her cheeks, “Oh, _shit_ – sorry - “ Here she was, supposedly inspiring _hundreds_ with the embarrassing reunion that none of them wanted to wake up to this morning.

The Ambassador waves her hand, gently taking a pace forward and holding her board closer to her chest. “Oh, no no no, don't mind me; please, you have your reunion - “

The Inquisitor sniffs, shaking her head and grinning once more. “Josie, no. Stay, let me rectify this.” She loosens her manic grip upon her brother, arm opening to invite the Antivan closer, and forces calming breaths upon herself; this was a shared event, no matter what anyone would say. Happiness was meant to be like that. She turns her gaze up, “Eaizlen, this is Josephine Montilyet, the Inquisition's Ambassador and Diplomat who plays one of the sharpest games of chess I've _ever_ had the pleasure of watching.”

The woman flushes, mouth turning into a soft round noise. “Oh, I – oh, it was just _one time_ \- “

A surprising gentleman now, Eaizlen laughs once more, reaching out to take her hand.“A pleasure, Lady Montilyet, I look forward to seeing your _mean_ games of chess.” He brushes his lips over the back of her knuckles, and Josephine laughs a little more.

Vaeln continues pushing the idea, enjoying seeing the other woman delighted so. “Set her against Cullen, she _frustrates_ him _so much_ \- “

Her brother gives the two of them a quizzical look, and for a moment, Vaeln wonders if he suspects. “Cullen?”

While the Ambassador nods, Vaeln controls her urge to gloss over the slip as quickly as possible. “Oh, right – the Commander of the Inquisition's forces: Commander Cullen Stanton Rutherford.” No, no, that _possibly_ just made it worse as she judges by the way her brother's brows knit.

Thankfully, Josephine seems to be struggling still with the idea of being so tossed about as a person of renown and terrifying ability, face pink. “Vaeln!”

The way her brother smiles a little more than she would like sets Vaeln's skin burning.“Sounds _terrifying_ , when will we meet him?”

Still, she manages to remain casual, speaking with an even voice, restraining her usual methods of comfort lest he notices straightaway that he's been given a front row seat to a fiasco she herself isn't entirely sure how to handle, let alone _share_. Perhaps it's to protect her own feelings, but she does still wonder what her brother has become, and the lingering threat of their mother, their beliefs – what would _any_ of them do to an ex-Templar? “Probably right before the next War Table round.”

Her brother gapes a little. “War Table _round_? Do you all get together and beat each other silly in a circle?”

Josephine seems won over, but even as she speaks, Vaeln notices the way she studies him. Sharpest player of any game. “Heavens no! Though I'm sure sometimes it sounds as though we about to, we all deeply respect each other, and our positions. Some of us are perhaps a little more _inclined_ to be, well, _straightforward_.”

Honestly, Vaeln was a little...unnerved about her own reluctance – but one still had to consider why Eaizlen was there, down to the minute details. Sure, he was her brother and she had so desperately wanted to see _any_ of her family now that she was no longer shackled to the Tower of the Ostwick Circle, memories coming back more often, but if the Trevelyans wanted _in_ on something, there had to be another side to it. Nobility were nobility, and it was possible her family wanted _her_ to do something quite specific. In fact, if they didn't, she would have been surprised.

She nods towards her brother, inhaling. “D'you have a room yet? We should get you set up, and I can show you around in the meantime too, if you like.”

He laughs. “And probably stop embarrassing the 'Herald of Andraste' in front of her posse; sure.” His broad shoulders shrug, head nodding. “Been trapped on horseback for a while, then walked Maker knows through how much snow - “

Josephine seems to sense the time is more appropriate for her to leave, touching the Inquisitor's arm. She speaks lowly and softly, not wishing to interrupt. “We will be waiting at the usual time for your arrival, Inquisitor, and I'm sure I smelled a particularly vicious concoction you may enjoy swelling up from the kitchens.”

The Inquisitor inclines her head, fingers touching the other's before turning back to gaze up at her brother's face, listening to the tell-tale sounds of the other woman making her way back into the section of the castle that contained her private work space. “Well then, shall we?”

 


End file.
